


You're New, Aren't You

by marksdolphin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pure Smut, Sheriarty - Freeform, Smut, Threatening, Threats of Violence, jimlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marksdolphin/pseuds/marksdolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes it his goal to prove James wrong about his inexperience when it comes to the bedroom</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're New, Aren't You

One of Sherlock's few weaknesses was that he loved to prove people wrong. He especially loved to prove James Moriarty wrong. So, there should be no surprise where the two ended up in Sherlock's bed, naked in a pure battle for dominance. Moriarty had previously teased Sherlock; he had told him how much experience he, himself, had in these situations and how, in contrast, little experience Sherlock had. Whether this was true or false, Sherlock was not going to let Moriarty get away with such a comment. Maybe the consulting detective didn't have as many cases in his history where he had been caught up like this, but when he did, it was good. The thing about being smarter than everyone else, means you know what others don't. That includes knowing what makes the person in bed with you tick. For example, Sherlock could tell that every time he rolled his hips harder than the last, Moriarty screamed in pleasure, although insisting he was an amateur. He was, of course, only trying to prove his point, Sherlock understood. He was trying to prove that Sherlock wasn't as good as himself, trying to make Sherlock cum first so he could grin smuggly and tell him he was right. The problem with that was that Moriarty was wrong. Sherlock was good. Better than anybody he'd slept with before, he just wasn't really willing to tell him that. Not yet.

Sherlock moved relentlessly. He held onto Moriarty's hips tightly, ensuring he didn't move (also taking a mental note to remember to check the other man's hips later, and observe how long it takes for his bruises to form.) Sherlock refrained from making any noise that resembled a moan for he had noted that this was often a sign of pleasure. Oh, this was pleasurable, but he was not about to enjoy it for the sake of Moriarty. Instead, he locked his eyes with the other man who sat upon him, the glare a challenge. Sherlock was not going to cum. 

Neither was Moriarty.

"Come on, Sherlock." His voice was deep and rough, almost making Sherlock want to let go first. He'd whispered the words in his ear with such silence that a chill ran down Sherlock's back. Sherlock was not going to cum.

"Over your dead body," Sherlock shot his words at Moriarty through clenched teeth. He used the majority of his remaining strength to switch their positions, throwing Jim on the mattress and, therefore, giving himself a lot more freedom with his actions. He pressed his lips against Moriarty's chest, his tongue finding its home as it teased the other man's nipple. Moriarty sharply took in a breath at the contact, refraining from arching his hips into him when Sherlock wrapped his hand around his cock.

Moriarty forced himself to push Sherlock away. He forced himself to calmly peel the taller man's hand from him and he forced himself to look like he didn't care. He did care. His cock cared as it dug painfully into the bottom of his stomach, leaking with pre-cum and simply begging Sherlock to touch it. He failed to recognise Sherlock's threat, focusing more on holding on. Holding on to his release and the multiple moans that were building up inside him and holding on to Sherlock. Oh God, he was holding on the Sherlock. His arms wrapped around Sherlock's back, and his nails dug in. He didn't want to let go because he didn't want it to be over.

Sherlock kept going. He moved his hips like every single thrust was calculated perfectly, his mind having figured out which movements make Moriarty hardest. Which movements make him closer to releasing the moans that have been building up. He was close, but nowhere near as close as the other man. So he took advantage, realising that maybe he, too, didn't want this to end just yet. "Cum and I will make your life a living hell, do you hear me?" His mind wasn't fully functioning and he struggled to find threats that described exactly how he would go about making Moriarty's life hell, he just would.

Moriarty, however, retaliated. "If you don't cum I will make YOUR life a living he-" he tried to threaten him. He had it all planned out. He was going to start killing in a seemingly random order, but an order only Sherlock could work out. He couldn't tell Sherlock this, however, because his attempts to do so were hindered by the man sinking his lips into his neck, thrusting his hips harder than before, and his hand returning to Moriarty's cock. It was all too much. Sherlock won.

Moriarty came hard, his liquid smothering his own chest and Sherlock's hand. Immediately Sherlock pulled out, pumping his own cock hard and within three quick strokes his cum was also covering Moriarty's stomach and chest.

Moriarty didn't object. Instead he just lay there, staring at the ceiling as though questioning what had just happened. Trying to recover.

Sherlock stood up. He recovered relatively quickly and threw Moriarty a towel. 

"So tell me, what do I win?"


End file.
